Life, the Universe, and Everything

by Douglas Adams

‘Er, who,’ said Arthur, ‘is Eddy, then, exactly, then?’ Ford looked angrily at him. ‘Will you listen?’ he snapped. ‘I have been listening,’ said Arthur, ‘but I’m not sure it’s helped.’ Ford grasped him by the lapels of his dressing gown and spoke to him as slowly and distinctly and patiently as if he were somebody from a telephone company accounts department. ‘There seem …’ he said, ‘to be some pools …’ he said, ‘of instability …’ he said, ‘in the fabric …’ he said … Arthur looked foolishly at the cloth of his dressing gown where Ford was holding it. Ford swept on before Arthur could turn the foolish look into a foolish remark. ‘… in the fabric of space–time,’ he said. ‘Ah, that,’ said Arthur. ‘Yes, that,’ confirmed Ford. They stood there alone on a hill on prehistoric Earth and stared each other resolutely in the face. ‘And it’s done what?’ said Arthur. ‘It,’ said Ford, ‘has developed pools of instability.’ ‘Has it?’ said Arthur, his eyes not wavering for a moment. ‘It has,’ said Ford with a similar degree of occular immobility. ‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘See?’ said Ford. ‘No,’ said Arthur. There was a quiet pause. ‘The difficulty with this conversation,’ said Arthur after a sort of pondering look had crawled slowly across his face like a mountaineer negotiating a tricky outcrop, ‘is that it’s very different from most of the ones I’ve had of late. Which, as I explained, have mostly been with trees. They weren’t like this. Except perhaps some of the ones I’ve had with elms whic...